


Maid of honor? NOT made for this

by boringcereal



Category: Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Angst, F/F, I think it's hopeful at least, Pining, Wedding, angst with a hopeful ending i think?, bi actually, i wrote this all in ONE SITTING which is kinda unprecendented for me ngl, just know that in this fic universe they def get together after and it'll be ok and gay, this is how im getting out my angsty feelings abt the show rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boringcereal/pseuds/boringcereal
Summary: Of all the ways that Harley and Ivy were to attend a wedding together, this had to be at the bottom of the list. Crashing a reception and tripping the grooms with champagne bottles? Classic, and fun. Breaking through a window in a big show of glass to dropkick the pastor? Explosive and full of pizzazz. Watching Ivy get married to someone else? It sucks. It really, really fucking sucks.orHarley tries to deal with her feelings, a runaway bride, and feelings for said runaway bride, all at the same time.
Relationships: Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 5
Kudos: 129





	Maid of honor? NOT made for this

Of all the ways that Harley and Ivy were to attend a wedding together, this had to be at the bottom of the list. Crashing a reception and tripping the grooms with champagne bottles? Classic, and fun. Breaking through a window in a big show of glass to dropkick the pastor? Explosive and full of pizzazz. Watching Ivy get married to someone else? It sucks. It really, really fucking sucks.

But she’s Ivy’s best friend _and_ the maid of honor. She can get through it. She has to. For Ivy.

If it means smiling at every dumb guest that came to the stupid wedding, if it means storing blood-stained congratulations in the spaces between her teeth for later, if it means wringing out every scrap, every drop of happiness that could be squeezed out of her guts for Ivy, in spite of the deep, consuming ache in her chest and the tears behind her eyelids, then so be it.

She’ll do it.

Fucked up or not, she already shot her shot, not knowing she had the gun pointed at herself the entire time.

Harley asked, Ivy rejected. Simple as that. It’s ok. She can deal with it.

She _is_ dealing with it.

By subjecting herself to this torture party which probably isn’t healthy, if the Dr. Harleen Quinzel in her head has anything to say about it, but it’s too late to back out now.

She can’t leave in the middle of the vows, after all.

If she closed her eyes and focused only on the low, soothing timbre of Ivy’s voice she could probably pretend it was _her_ who was on the receiving end. They’re standing right beside each other, anyway. Ivy was just a single turn away from marrying her, instead.

Harley doesn’t hate herself _that_ much, though.

“If anyone can show just cause as to why this couple cannot be joined together in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,” she hears the pastor say.

Ugh, what a dumb fuckface. She can’t stand him. With his- with his stupid goatee. And tiny glasses. She _told_ Ivy to go for the Elvis impersonator, but she just laughed and asked for her opinion on the floral arrangements. Harley remembers Ivy’s fond smile at her with a twist in her chest. 

Honestly, she doesn’t know the guy, but she can assume he’s a real fucking drag at parties.

She looks into the audience to see King Shark and Clayface looking at her a little sadly.

Fuck, is she _that_ obvious?

Harley closes her eyes, then.

She hears the continuous, muffled drone of the pastor’s voice, followed by Kiteman’s _I do_. And more muffled drones. There’s a ringing in her ears.

And then there’s silence when there shouldn’t be, from Ivy’s side. And hushed whispers in the crowd.

The silence stretches on.

She opens her eyes to see people murmuring to each other. Some of them are looking at her, she notices with a pang.

Harley turns to Ivy confusedly, only to see her already looking at her with wide, blown-out, panicked eyes.

“Miss Pamela Isley…?” the pastor implores again. “Do you take Mister Charles Brown to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Kiteman looks almost as green as his kite, suddenly.

Several things happen all at once. A baby starts crying out of nowhere (seriously, what the fuck, whoever’s baby that is better-), a man drops his sandwich, and Ivy turns away from all of them, suddenly rushing through the aisle and making a break for the door.

The only sound left in the room is a resounding _thud_ of the door closing.

And the fucking baby, of course, which keeps on wailing like a goddamn siren.

Shit.

Harley suddenly snaps into autopilot best friend mode; the only thought she has is _Ivy_ , _Ivy_ , _have to get to Ivy_ \- as she absent-mindedly hears the sound of a decidedly not-a-baby-but-grown-woman wail and sees someone stop Kiteman from following out of the corner of her eye as she makes a beeline for the very door Ivy just walked out of.

She finds her sitting on the steps, her head buried into her knees.

And Harley’s heart breaks a little for her at the sight.

There are so, so many questions she has for Ivy— _why, what does this mean for them, does she love him, why, why, why._

She settles on one.

“Are you okay?”

Harley hears a scoff, then a sniffle, muffled behind a tangle of arms.

Based on the situation, yeah, it probably wasn’t the best question to ask.

Fuck. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Harley sits down, slowly, next to the single person she’d undoubtedly, without question, risk her life for, and tries again.

“What do you need? I’m here for you, Ive. In whatever way you want me.”

Ivy shifts, but stays put.

Harley attempts to go for a lighter angle.

“Man, what a crowd, huh? Did you see that guy in the middle row chowing down on that giant baguette sandwich the size of his fucking arm? I mean, talk about trying to make up for something.”

Harley hears a throaty, half-hearted chuckle, and smiles.

She continues. “Also, it’s just plain rude. You spent ages on the menu. We can go bash him over the head with it if you want.”

Ivy turns her head, resting it on her arms as she looks at Harley. Even with puffy eyes and mascara running down her cheeks, she’s still the most breathtaking sight she’s ever seen, Harley thinks. And she’s seen a lot of beautiful shit.

There’s a pause as they stare at each other, unmoving.

Ivy speaks, finally. “Yeah… let’s not...”

“Okay fair, we don’t want to get an assault charge on your day, now,” Harley says, lightheartedly.

The runaway bride looks at the ground.

“Shit. Sorry.”

Ivy sighs.

“Your previous question. I- I don’t _know_ , Harley. I don’t fucking _know_.”

There’s the distinct sound of cars driving by and a bird or two chirping. A light breeze passes through.

“Okay,” she says. “We can- we can just sit and hang out, if that’s what you’d like. No talking necessary.”

Cars continue to drive by, and the birds are still there, sitting in the tree across from them. She can imagine them laughing at her.

_Dumbass_ , they’d chirp. _Went and fell in love with your best friend and ruined everything, look. Another mess you leave for her to clean up._

_Another mess._

Harley feels the urge to rip her hair out, suddenly. Maybe her heart too, for good measure. She can’t believe this. The stupid birds are right. This _can’t_ be another problem she makes for her best friend.

“Or… or you can go back in there! Marry the love of your life! Ivy, that man is _so_ in love with you and I _really_ didn’t think he was good enough for you at all, like, _at all-at all_ , I mean he jumps around in a fucking kite for fuck’s sake-”

“Harls.”

“Right, sorry. But he loves you! And you love him back, right? You two… you two are good for each other and… and..."

There’s a lump in her throat now, and she’s finding it increasingly difficult to finish her sentence. Harley powers through.

“You seem happy with him, Ivy. He makes you happy. I see that, and that’s really all I want for you. And of course, for you to name your babies Harley or maybe Harley Jr. or-”

“WHAT IF HE DOESN’T, THOUGH?”

Harley pauses in counting the variations of baby names on her fingers.

“What?”

Ivy repeats herself, a little quieter. “What if he doesn’t?” she says, sniffling. “I mean, he does, in a way, but. It’s… it’s different.”

Harley waits for her to continue, but Ivy stays quiet.

“Different… how? From what?”

Ivy looks at her, then. And she can see the intent, the meaning behind her eyes, even through the tears.

Harley stands up, suddenly.

“Ive…”

Ivy watches her, looking sad. So, so sad. 

“Ivy, please,” Harley says, a pained edge wobbling, _wedged_ in her voice. “I- I’m trying to do the right thing here, but… this is. This is getting really fucking hard.” There are tears in her eyes, now. The droplets that she’s been trying to hold back all day are leaking out.

There’s a long stretch of silence between them, nothing but the sound of the birds laughing at them. At the sort of predicament two women in love who _can’t_ be can get themselves into.

“Yeah,” Ivy says, finally. “That makes two of us.”

It’s complicated.

Terribly, _maddeningly_ complicated.

Harley sits back down. She wants to wrap her into a hug, but decides against it.

“Well… what now?”

Ivy sighs again.

“I don’t know.”

Harley hums.

“I think,” Ivy continues, after a beat. “I think I’m going to postpone things. Talk about everything with Chuck.”

“That sounds like a smart thing to do.”

“God, I just-” Ivy groans. She buries her face in her knees again. “Don’t want to have to go back in there and face everyone. Especially Chuck. He’s probably devastated right now.”

“Hey, hey. He’ll be fine. He’s not going to die or anything. Everything will turn out okay, yeah?”

Ivy peeks at her through her arms.

“Whatever happens, I’ll be here. Right next to you, every step of the way. You’re my best friend, Ive. And that always comes first, no matter what.”

She smiles, which Harley counts as a victory. A small one, but a victory nonetheless.

She stands up, holding out her hand for Ivy to take.  
  
“Now, what do you say we get back in there and kick some ass? Crash this motherfucker.”

Ivy rolls her eyes good-naturedly, swiping away a tear.

“Alright. Let’s see how this turns out.”

She takes her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, y'all! Fingers crossed we collect at least a crumb of potential harlivy endgame by the end of this season. RIP kiteman but I would like to see it.


End file.
